“This is kind, dear Mrs. Poynsett,” said the soft voice, while the hand insisted on a pressure.  “I have often wished to come and see you, but I could not venture without an excuse.”

“Thank you,” was the cold reply.

“I have more than an excuse—­a reason, and I think we shall be fully agreed; but first you must let me have the pleasure of one look to recall old times.  It is such a treat to see you so unchanged.  I hope you do not still suffer.”

“No, thank you.”

“And are you always a prisoner here?  Ah!  I know your patience.”

“What was the matter on which you wanted to speak to me?” said Mrs. Poynsett, fretted beyond endurance by the soft, caressing tone.

“As I said, I should hardly venture if I did not know we agreed—­ though perhaps not for the same reasons.  We do agree in our love and high opinion of your dear Frank!”

“Well!” repressing a shudder at the ‘dear.’

“I am afraid we likewise agree that, under all circumstances, our two young people are very unfortunately attached, and that we must be hard-hearted, and let it go no further.”

“You mean your sister?”

“My dear Lena!  I cannot wonder!  I blame myself excessively, for it was all through my own imprudence.  You see, when dear Frank came to Rockpier, it was so delightful to renew old times, and they both seemed such children, that I candidly confess I was off my guard; but as soon as I had any suspicion, I took care to separate them, knowing that, in the state of my poor father’s affairs, it would be most unjustifiable to let so mere a youth be drawn into an attachment.”

“Frank is no prize,” said his mother with some irony.

“I knew you would say that, dear Mrs. Poynsett.  Pecuniarily speaking, of course, he is not; though as to all qualities of the heart and head, he is a prize in the true sense of the word.  But, alas! it is a sort of necessity that poor Lena, if she marry at all, should marry to liberal means.  I tell you candidly that she has not been brought up as she ought to have been, considering her expectations or no expectations.  What could you expect of my poor father, with his habits, and two mere girls?  I don’t know whether the governess could have done anything; but I know that it was quite time I appeared.  I tell you in confidence, dear Mrs. Poynsett, there was a heavy pull on my own purse before I could take them away from Rockpier; and, without blaming a mere child like poor dear Lena you can see what sort of preparation she has had for a small income.”

It is hard to say which tried Mrs. Poynsett’s patience most, the ‘dears’ or the candour; and the spirit of opposition probably prompted her to say, “Frank has his share, like his brothers.”

“I understand, and for many girls the provision would be ample; but poor Lena has no notion of economizing—­how should she?  I am afraid there is no blinking it, that, dear children as they both are, nothing but wretchedness could result from their corning together; and thus I have been extremely sorry to find that the affair has been renewed.”